


The Aftermath

by Say_it_aint_so



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Say_it_aint_so/pseuds/Say_it_aint_so
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag for 1.15. Deactivating the bomb is only one part of dealing with what happened that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aftermath

Her head felt weird. It was this buzzing sensation, like her brain was filled with static. Her thoughts didn’t feel complete. They were jumbled and moving paradoxically faster and slower than normal. There was the ‘oh God, I nearly died,’ thought repeating like a scratched record, which was interrupted by, ‘I’m alive.’ Then the swearing her parents had grounded her for as a teenager sprinkled across her thoughts like icing sugar on a cake. 

She’d never been so out of it before. It wasn’t like being drunk, that was a pleasant buzz. This wasn’t pleasant. She couldn’t focus on anything. She knew that the painting on the wall across from her was a Pollock abstract worth more than her apartment. But she couldn’t see it. It was like staring into a black hole that wasn’t even black. 

It was just nothing. 

There was nothing in her head. Nothing but static. And that scared her. 

Someone grasped her hand and squeezed it. She jumped. He whispered soothing words into her ear. She assumed they were soothing. The words themselves were unintelligible to her. The tone he used was one that she associated with small children and scared kittens. 

He pushed a cold glass into her other hand, keeping his hand over her as she raised the glass of clear liquid to her mouth. 

She took a sip and nearly choked. She’d assumed that it was water. It wasn’t. Her eyes watered. She swallowed and blinked rapidly. Tears leaked from her eyes, smudging her makeup. 

Felicity looked up at Diggle, noting the concerned look on his face. “That wasn’t water.”

“Vodka.” He took his hand off the glass, apparently confident that she wouldn’t accidentally break it. The ice clinked against the glass tumbler’s side as he her hand shook. She stared at it. She couldn’t even feel her hand move. Felicity raised the glass and drank the rest of the vodka, feeling the heat move through her chest. 

Diggle looked at her the way he looked at Oliver when he did something most people would consider ridiculous. “Are you okay?”

“I kept my head.” A breathless giggle followed her words as she realised the double entendre. “In both senses.”

He looked more doubtful about her state of mind. He took the glass out of her hand. “We should go. Oliver said the police will be here soon. McKenna just arrested the Dodger. He’s going to follow to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“When did he say that?” She couldn’t remember him saying that. She couldn’t remember anything after the flooding sensation of relief as the bomb collar was deactivated. 

“A minute ago. You’re in shock. It’s normal to space out a little.” Diggle pulled her to her feet, not letting go of her hand until he was sure that she wasn’t about to topple over. “We gotta go. You good to walk?”

“Wait.” She reached over the table she’d been sitting on to grab the bomb collar. “We can’t leave that.”

“That would be bad.” Diggle nodded somberly. Felicity couldn’t tell if he was being mocking her or not. “Come on. We don’t have much time.” His hand ghosted the small of her back as he escorted her out of the small side room she’d run into after she’d found them. 

She started shaking as they weaved their way through the crowd in the auction room. Diggle shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Thank you.” She smiled, trying to convey her gratitude in the word but it wasn’t strong enough. Both he and Oliver had saved her. 

“It’s nothing.” He pulled her close as they passed a raucous group of society girls. “Carly always says they make these places too cold.” Diggle knew if he could distract her, she wouldn’t focus so much on what had nearly happened. She couldn’t afford to have a public meltdown. 

“It preserves the art.”

“What?” 

“When the temperature fluctuates the molecules in the paint expands and contracts, which deteriorates the paint. Basically, the constant temperature preserves the art.” Felicity had to take two steps to every one of his to keep up. She could have sworn that she heard sirens in the distance but she was probably just panicking. 

Diggle raised his eyebrows at her, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Did you swallow an encyclopaedia when you were a kid or something?”

“Something like that.” She wrapped his jacket tighter around her, trying to ignore the shakes racking her body. 

They walked out of the auction in silence, Diggle staying within hand-grabbing distance of Felicity. By the time that the valet pulled the car around, blue and red lights were flashing at the end of the road. 

Diggle opened the back door for her. “That’s our cue to leave.”

 

***

 

Oliver knocked on the door three times then stood back so he was clearly visible through the peephole. He didn’t want to startle Felicity. He knew that she would be on edge. Diggle had called him after he’d dropped her home. He’d said that she was in shock but seemed to be coping. Oliver wanted to make sure. She was part of his team now. He slid the box of expensive petits fours under his arm and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. A near impossible feat considering what Felicity knew about him. 

Soft footsteps approached the door. There was a pause then the lock clicked and the door opened. Felicity stood in the doorway, tendrils of blonde hair escaping a bun on top of her head. She pulled at the bottom of her over-sized sweater. “Oliver, what are you doing here?”

“I come bearing gifts.” He held out the cardboard box like it was a ritualistic sacrifice. Normally his idiosyncrasies made her smile. She didn’t smile. “Tommy says they’re the best in the city.” He didn’t add that Tommy said they were the best at making Laurel forgive him when he was in the wrong. 

Her eyes flicked from the box to his face, then to the box again. She was silent for a moment, internally debating whether to let him in. “Fine.” She let go of the door, allowing it to swing open. “But don’t yell at me.” She walked away from the door, standing in front of a wooden dining table that was covered with knick-knacks. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, they kept fidgeting with everything. She didn’t look at him. 

Oliver frowned, confused. She couldn’t possibly think that he was angry at her. He was angry at the Dodger. He was furious with himself for putting her in danger last night. He strode inside, locking the door behind him. Habit demanded a cursory assessment of her apartment. It was an open planed apartment that could have fitted into his rooms at the Queen mansion. Framed pictures of people he didn’t recognise lined the walls. A fire escape was visible through the kitchenette window. Cushions covered a sofa that looked like its best days were a decade ago. A double bed lined the wall opposite the door. The bed was made. She clearly hadn’t slept. He sighed; he should have talked with her last night. He put the box on the sofa, balancing it on a cushion. 

“Felicity.” His soft tone made her look up at him. Dark circles under her eyes highlighted the red in them. “I’m not angry at you.”

“But…”

“It wasn’t your fault. I-we,” he corrected himself. They were a team. There was no I in team. “We miscalculated. You shouldn’t have been in there in the first place.” He decided to lecture her on the dangers of confronting Interpol-wanted malignant criminals when she was able to look at him. Her eyes darted everywhere around the apartment, avoiding him. “Hey,” Oliver stepped forward and lifted her chin up with a finger. He had to show her that he wasn’t angry. His temper had made her leave once already. He wouldn’t let her fear of that make her leave again. “Look at me. I’m not angry. I’d never be angry with you for trying to help. You’re part of my team.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, hands wringing each other. “You promise?” She sounded so much like his sister did when she was little, begging for a bedtime story. 

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Felicity breathed out heavily. “Good. That’s good.” Now she sounded like Thea when she’d wheedled her way out of trouble. 

“Felicity?” He let his hand drop, cocking his head questioningly.

“You promised you wouldn’t be mad at me for helping.” She backed away slowly, blue eyes watching his reaction carefully. 

“I didn’t promise.” Oliver’s brow furrowed. Something wasn’t adding up. He looked her up and down, trying to figure out what was going on in her head. She looked tired and anxious but he’d expected that. She was fidgeting more than usual, moving like a cornered squirrel trying to hide its loot. He looked past her and his eyes fell on the table she was standing in front of. Wires, screws and tiny metal plates were laid out in some kind of pattern he couldn’t discern. Then he realised what he was looking at. 

“Felicity.” Now he was angry. 

She flinched at his tone, closing her eyes then forcing them back open. “You said-“

“Is that what I think it is?” His voice was even but low. This was the voice he used before he lost his temper and things ended up broken. 

“If you’re thinking that it’s the bomb collar, then yes?” She moved from side to side, shoulders tight and raised, like she was preparing to duck and cover. 

“You kept the bomb.”

“That’s what I just said.” 

“Do you realise how dangerous that is?” He yelled and she flinched, backing into the table. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. Opening his eyes, he looked straight at her deer-in-the-headlights expression. He exhaled and smiled tightly. “Felicity, I know that you’re smart so I thought this was obvious but you don’t play with the things that nearly kill you.” He spoke like he was a stern teacher exasperated by a teenager. 

“You use arrows and you’ve been shot by them.” Her eyes widened as she realised what she’d said. She slapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stop herself before she said anything else. Oliver never talked about the scars and both she and Diggle knew better than to ask. The scars weren’t just physical and Oliver liked to pretend that he didn’t have any scars. “Oliver… I…”

He held up his hand. “No, you’re right.” She looked surprised at his admission. “I have been shot with arrows and bullets. And it hurts, like you wouldn’t believe. But I have it on good authority that getting blown up hurts a whole lot more.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Her hands fell to her chest, rubbing together like she was praying. “I’m sorry. I have absolutely no control sometimes. I open my mouth and it’s like verbal diarrhoea. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m beginning to realise that.” Her face fell at the harshness of his tone. Oliver sat down on the arm of the sofa, running a hand over his short blonde hair. “Felicity,” he sounded worn out. “What were you thinking?”

“I was trying to help.” She ventured, bobbing on the balls of her socked feet. 

“You said that before.”

“He uses this fancy wiring technique that NASA uses for its Mars rovers. I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to see how it worked. It’s brilliant actually. I’d call him a genius but he’s an evil prick and genius is a word reserved for people smart enough not to resort to crime to make money. No offense,” She added, glancing up at him quickly. “Anyway, I think I could play, wrong word,” She corrected herself at his raised eyebrow. “I could adapt the technology, and with a few improvements, use it for other things.” Felicity smiled for the first time that morning, pausing for dramatic effect before continuing. “Like arrows.”

Oliver nodded approvingly at the idea. He still hated that she’d deconstructed the bomb but he had to admit, her idea was clever. “Exploding arrows, that’s new.”

“Exactly.” She bit her lip, taking a tentative step towards him. “You won’t have to shoot people to scare them.” Her hand squeezed her collarbone. “I mean, what’s more terrifying than a bomb exploding near your head?” Her voice trembled. She pressed her lips together. 

“Not much,” He agreed, watching her carefully. He could see what Diggle had been talking about. She wasn’t okay. But she would be. She was coping pretty well, better than he’d expected. He would have preferred that she didn’t distract herself by dismantling bombs in her apartment but it was better than some of the alternatives. “It’s a great idea Felicity. Thank you.” He stressed the last word. He reached behind and picked up the box of cakes. “Take your reward.”

She reached forward, smiling slightly then hesitated. “You’re not angry anymore?” 

He pulled the box back. “Do you want me to eat all these by myself?” He smiled broadly, deciding that they’d been too serious. She needed to see the lighter side of life. He didn’t want her to become as dark as he was. “Because I will.”

“I know that social graces aren’t really you’re thing.” He rolled his eyes at her jibe. “But you really can’t turn up on a girl’s door with pretty cakes and eat them in front of her. It’s just not done.” She leant over and plucked the box from his hands. She sat down on the floor next to the sofa, pulling a cushion down from the couch and using it as a cushion. She opened the box and squealed. “They’re adorable.” 

“There isn’t exactly a market for plaques saying sorry for you being too close to a bomb.” Oliver smiled at her exuberant reaction. “I had to make do.” Inside the box were six different cakes, three with plaques declaring they were ‘sorry’ and three with plaques telling her that ‘it won’t happen again.’  
Felicity looked up at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”


End file.
